


no one lives there anymore

by sicklikewinter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, M/M, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sicklikewinter/pseuds/sicklikewinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>and this is my mixed tape for her</i>
  <br/>
  <i>it's like i wrote every note</i>
  <br/>
  <i>with my own fingers</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	no one lives there anymore

**Author's Note:**

> this isnt a happy ?? series thing ??  
> idk but i had an au idea where karkat made mixed tapes for john  
> it somehow ended up really fucking sad
> 
> oops

He makes mixed tapes filled with your favorite songs sometimes, only four or five on each side; filled to the brim with notes and beats all for you. He leaves handwritten lyrics with the tapes, the lyrics that make his heart ache and your heart race—things that tell you, “I love you so much you insufferably idiotic dumbass.”—and you can’t get the songs he chooses out of your head. 

You listen to them constantly since he died. 

You sit in your room, slightly dusty and filled with broken memories and sad feelings, and contemplate every single  _happy_  memory with him. They (Dave and Rose and Jade and Kanaya) tell you it’s stupid to stay inside all the time, so you go outside; headphones in and mixed tapes playing. They block the hurt of sadness in your bones and make you ache for a shout-y, black haired boy who adored romcoms and licking the butter from popcorn that bled between his fingers.

You relive happy memories where he hold your hand, grumbling insults and complaining about how dumb the walk was. When you bring him to your “secret spot”. You tell him the spot isn’t that all  _that_  secret, but it’s  _special to you_  and he can feel it in the way you smile bright; blue eyes sparkling and heart nervous. He’s quiet as you speak, your heart moving on the breath you exhale and winding itself around his own heart and ears; and you wonder if this is a precursor to something wonderful.

(it is)

You sit in, what you’ve dubbed “our spot” and rest your head on your knees. He’s in everything you do and every thought you think, and you hate it (lie). You hate his unruly hair just after it dries and ruffles up (liar), and you hate the way he made those mixed tapes filled with sappy songs (stop lying john), and you especially hate the love letters with lyrics attached of things that made Karkat think of you (you dont hate karkat at all you miss him)!

Ripping the headphones off your ears, you toss them to the side and scream into your knees. It’s muffled and you feel your kneecap bump into a tooth but you don’t care. You don’t care you don’t care you don’t care  ** _you don’t fucking care!_**  All you wanted was him to have come back home safely and into a car accident. You wanted him to come home so you and he could watch the new romcom he bought just a  _few hours earlier!_

“I  _miss you_  Karkat.” 

Your voice is thick with snot and sadness and it wraps itself around your heart, and you’re too heavy with grief to even care. Digging around in your pockets you pull out a wrinkled sheet of paper, filled with scratchy-skritchy handwriting and you hold it close to your heart. The song you were listening to before you threw the headphones off your ears still echoes in your head and you fall back into imaginary arms, attached to your boy wonder and you  _cry_.

Your name is John Egbert, and you hate the mixed tapes Karkat made you before he died.

(NO YOU DON'T, YOU'RE A FUCKING  _LIAR_.)


End file.
